wait and hope
by owedbetter
Summary: Time travel has always been possible in dreams and when she dreams, she dreams of him.


**A/N:** I've been crying over the goddamn finale for the last two days and I can't stop. I'm a fucking wreck. I'm at work and writing this real quick in one go, without really thinking about it (or proofreading it lmao), did feel just the tiniest bit cathartic. Enjoy. x

* * *

" _Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and never forget that, until the day God deigns to reveal the future to man, the sum of human wisdom will be contained in these two words: wait and hope._ "

Edmond Dantès, _The Count of Monte Cristo_ by Alexandre Dumas

* * *

Time travel has always been possible in dreams and when she dreams, she dreams of him.

When she's awake, she has the whole universe as her playground. Every hurrah is the last hurrah when you're living on borrowed time and she lives, now and all the rest of her stolen days, in the span of exactly one last heartbeat. But one second to another can last an infinity when you've got a time machine. And she could go anywhere, be anyone, have anything she ever wanted—all but the one thing she wanted most.

How do you move on from a love that absolute? How do you move on from a love that can burn down every universe and all the pockets and parallels in between just to get to the one where you could be together? How can you know love that true and patient and passionate only to find out that it _shouldn't_ be? How do you forget those eyes that have seen creations burn and stars born and an infinite amount of truly, miraculously wonderful things besides but then look at you like you're just as beautiful and make you feel like it?

And, most importantly of all, how do you move on after losing it?

Rationally, she knows it was the right thing to do.

The universe is, altogether, much more important than two people.

On good days, she takes solace in that. That she did the right thing; that they couldn't keep it up because the pair of them would go that far and beyond for each other. And, as it turns out, that can be a bad thing. Because love has sacrifices and summer can't always last forever, even if you've got a time machine. That it was for his own good, so he could move on without her. That he was always better off anyway and loving someone the way that she does him means you want them to have the best life they could have—even when it means that it's one without you.

On bad days, she thinks she's cursed, if things like that existed. That it is the most dangerous and most foolhardy thing in the universe to love Clara Oswald. And that she shouldn't be; that no one ever should, for their own safety and for their own good. Everyone who has ever loved her has ended up dead because of it—or worse. So, so much worse. She runs from these days. No one need ever know that these days happen every night when she's alone with nothing and no one else is around; not even the comfort of her heartbeat to keep her company.

Perhaps that is just the nature of the lover, of the carer that she is—to love, not be loved; to care, not be cared for. Nobody ever tells you how lonely it is. And how sad.

She sleeps even though she doesn't need to and when she dreams, she dreams of him. And he dreams of her.

She's his prophecy. Him, a ghost. She's made up of too many of them now.

Neither of them knows if what is happening is real or not but it is never at the same place twice. Sometimes, they meet at a garden. Or a rooftop. Or a balcony. Or a desert in the middle of nowhere. Or in deep space with no gravity, no air, no light—just each other's touch of warmth to let the other know that they were there.

"Sometimes, I wish you'd never met me," she tells him.

"Why?"

"I think you'd probably have been better off."

"Clara—"

"I'm not very good at loving people, am I?" her voice breaks. There are no lies between them in their dreams. A tear falls from her eyes and he hates himself for not catching it.

"But I did love you," she tells him again because she knows he won't remember. "I do. And I'm sorry for it."

"Why would you be?" he asks her, his eyes near crying too.

"I've hurt you. I've made you break every rule you've ever had, I've made you hurt yourself over and over and over—"

"If that's what I'm going to do, then that's _my_ choice."

"You shouldn't have had to choose."

"I don't regret you, Clara."

"Neither do I but I think you probably should."

"I could say the same for you," he tells her. "I mean, look at you. Look at what I've done to you."

"You've made me better."

"I've made you reckless."

"I've always been this reckless; I just hid it really well and pretended that I wasn't."

He had nothing to say to that. Theirs was a love like fire burning and as much as it could be good, it could also bring down everything in its path. Theirs was a love that's changed them. She's crying now. She only ever allowed herself to cry when she's dreaming.

In her dreams, she can still remember what it's like to hear her own heart beating. They tell you that pain lets you know you're still alive—but dear God, sometimes it's feeling the pain that made you wish you weren't.

He put an arm around her, keeping her close. He's warmer in their dreams—almost as if they are made of the same thing in this dimension. That they're just two beings – no power between them, no influence, with no other purpose than to be together; it's just that real life is hardly ever that simple. Or kind.

"I miss you," she tells him.

"I'm right here," he tells her.

"You asked me once," she starts, "if I knew what it was like—for you to look at me and not see me."

"Clara—"

"You can't see me anymore. You looked me in the eye and you didn't know who I was. And I know it's for the best and I know you'll be happier for it and I know I should be happy for you and most days I am, but I just—it hurts. I don't like it."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"How are you?" he asks her, after a moment's silence.

"Running," she tells him. "Wanting to know how far I can go until I have to stop. You?"

"You're still with me. Can't complain." Pause. "You're wrong, you know."

"About what?"

"Losing you? I'd never be happier for it. I'd just learn to live with the loss."

"And love again, I know. That's what you always do. I was counting on it since you don't remember anymore. But I'm not you. I've lived life after life after life without you, millions of them; I know what it's like."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

"I love you," he tells her. And that's how they know this is a dream.

"I know you do," she tells him. "And, let's be honest, that's the whole problem."

"Loving me back is too."

"Then what should we have done? Just never have met?"

"I think we've done the best we could with what we were given," he says.

She lets her head rest against his chest. She hasn't forgotten the rhythm of his two hearts beating just yet. His chest neither rises nor falls – no lungs, after all – but he's warm and he smells like raspberries, metal, and time.

Neither of them can be sure if this is real, not really. But they both want to believe that it is.

But time travel has always been possible in dreams and, sometimes, the possibility is enough to last a lifetime. Or even just a night.

"For what it's worth," he starts, "I don't think our story's over yet. I think we'll see each other again. Someday. I would never forget you for very long."

"Do you think we could ever be together again?" she asks him. Looks up at him with those big, sad eyes he doesn't think he could ever forget, no matter what she says will happen.

"Maybe. Maybe when we're both better. Or maybe we already had our time."

"It's not enough."

"Even forever wouldn't have been enough for either of us and you know it."

"I love you," she tells him again. Because this time, she knows she'll never say it again. Properly, this time. A promise she can keep this time around. He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

"I love you." He pulls her closer and rubs her arm.

"Can't we stay here? Just never wake up?"

"There are so many other things to see, Clara. And you'll see me again." He kisses the top of her head once more. "Will you wait for me?"

"Always," she says. She looks up at him and smiles like he'll remember.

"Then we'll wait. And we'll hope."


End file.
